


Everything Stays

by JessieDewitt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (Possible) redemption, Adventure time reference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale is a cinnamon roll (but bad at handling guilt), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Emotional Crowley, Explanation for The Fall (Good Omens), Gabriel is a twat, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Mysterious riddles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Self-Discovery, The Almighty is Ineffable (But not really), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), non-sexual affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieDewitt/pseuds/JessieDewitt
Summary: After the Apocawasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley have a series of encounters that are...weird, even by their standards, and both are issued what looks suspiciously like a divine riddle.  They aren't sure they want to solve it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on my personal theory as to why Crowley and Azirphale are very un-demon like and un-angel like, respectively, influenced a bit by my obsession with the Inklings. I've added some edits to the first couple of chapters, now that I know where I'm going with it.

* * *

Aziraphale had tried for literal millennia to speak directly to The Almighty. He'd filed hundreds of reports (in triplicate), sent thousands of requests (millions, actually), and used every channel at his disposal, from holy circles to the Pope (five of them). He had many, many, official reasons to speak to The Almighty, but though he never would admit it, what he most wanted was an answer to a simple question. It was a question he had only ever uttered out loud once in all of eternity, and The Almighty had simply smiled at him, and vanished into the 'somewhere higher up' she hadn't emerged from ever since.

When he tried to express his confusion to Gabriel (never stating what his actual question was) Gabriel had been aghast, and insisted that "The Almighty isn't to be questioned." And while he had no proof, he strongly suspected that this almost-rebellious thought was why he'd been exiled to earth; not that anyone had ever clearly stated that it was an exile. But he wasn't quite Holy enough to stay in upper management. Humans were more "his speed", whatever that meant. As much as he loved earth, he had always thought it was unfair, just like it was unfair that The Almighty was ignoring him. And it didn't help his growing frustration when, after he had tried unsuccessfully for exactly the 104,023,856th time to contact The Almighty, he'd been brushed off again.

And then Crowley had to show up.

"Angel!" He'd shouted, strolling into the book shop and tossing his jacket on the counter when there was a _perfectly good_ coat rack not a foot away from him, "I scored a crate of obscenely old Glenlivet in a poker game. Put up your 'closed' sign!"

The few customers in the shop glared at Crowley disapprovingly, but filtered out. Aziraphale sighed. "Those were paying customers, Crowley."

Crowley shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like you need money."

"Well, no, but I do need my reputation as a bookseller."

Crowley snorted in a comically exaggerated way. Aziraphale noticed that one of the bottles was already open and half empty.

"Reputation." Crowley was saying, like it was the funniest word he'd ever heard. "It's not like you ever sell-"

"I don't expect you to understand!" Aziraphale shouted, then pointedly picked up Crowley's coat and hung it up.

Crowley was quiet for a beat. "You're in a mood today." He muttered. "You know what will fix it? Alcohol."

With his back still to him Aziraphale straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I do not fix my problems by becoming inebriated."

"Yes you do." Crowley retorted. "We both do on a weekly basis; and I still have that very obscure painting of Dionysus that looks suspiciously like you."

Aziraphale ground his teeth together, which he believed was a clear communication of the thought: "Crowley, I am clearly unhappy, you are being a complete twat, And we agreed that what happened at Delphi stayed at Delphi.", But which Crowley took to mean: "Oh Crowley, you lovable rascal! I am so frustrated by how endearing and handsome you are!"

"Come on," Crowley said coaxingly, setting the crate down on the coffee table. "It's been a whole month since you-know-what. We should celebrate."

Aziraphale finally turned around and crossed his arms, apparently having trouble looking his friend in the eye. "Don't bring that up please. I...I don't like to think about it."

Crowley sighed, and sauntered over to him, placing his hands on his shoulders. "It's ok Angel. We're safe, we're where we should be, we can-"

Aziraphale shrugged Crowley's hands off of him and stepped back. "No, we're not." He said Quietly.

"What was that?"

Aziraphale finally looked Crowley in the eye, and the mixture of anger and tears shocked him. "We're not where we should be." He breathed out, like it pained him. "One of us especially is very decidedly _not_ where he should be. And not amount of stolen alcohol is going to fix it!"

Crowley stared at his friend in shocked silence for several seconds. Then the anger and hurt set in.

"Well," he said, making sure his glasses where fixed firmly over his eyes. "I didn't know you felt that way about it."

Aziraphale sighed. "Crowley, I didn't-"

"You should have spoken up sooner." Crowley continued, not listening. "I'll just," he grabbed the half empty bottle, and took a giant swig of the contents. "I'll just, stop tainting your little slice of heaven then."

He then stormed out the door. Or would have, had he not vanished in a puff of divine light.

* * *

Crowley was disoriented and terrified, but the terror was winning out by leaps and bounds. The bookshop was gone, London was gone, the _world_ was gone, and in it's place was an overwhelming white light. Not the sterile 'holiest of holy' light in Heaven, but something both softer and more revealing. There was a nagging thought at the back of his head that this is what the angels were all trying, and failing, to capture. He felt exposed in a way he hadn't in centuries, despite his layers of black clothing, and more embarrassed about said exposure than he'd felt in millennia. He wrapped his arms around himself protectively, not completely understanding where he was or what was happening. It was clearly some part of Heaven, and that could only be terrible for him.

"Aziraphale?" he asked tentatively, hoping his friend had been transported with him, or that it was his doing. "Aziraphale? This, uh, this really isn't funny. Just, Miracle me back now, please? Aziraphale?"

"He isn't here." A voice said behind him. A voice that shook ground and calmed the wind simultaneously. He knew who had brought him here.

Bollocks.

Very slowly, Crowley turned around, shaking from head to foot in a way that even holy water couldn't cause. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes.

"Crowley," the voice said, "Look at me."

He couldn't help but comply, and slowly opened his eyes, his suspicions confirmed.

It was _Her_.

He'd often thought about what he would do if he'd ever faced The Almighty again. Shout obscenities. Throw a punch. Explode. But none of those things happened. Crowley realized, with a keen sense of how unfair it was, that he was weeping. To make matters worse, his sunglasses were gone. The Almighty very slowly, giving him a chance to retreat, reached out and wiped the tears from his face. Her touch burned worse than holy water, but was painless, and destroyed nothing.

"Go on." She said. "Have a good cry."

More than a little embarrassed, Crowley cried for several minutes, then wiped his face on his sleeve. "W-why am I here?" he asked. " _How_ am I here?"

The Almighty smiled in her enigmatic way. "Because we need to talk."

Crowley scowled, feeling a bit more like himself. "Is this an 'Ineffable Plan' thing?"

"It might be."

Crowley rolled his eyes, trying to hide how curious he was.

"You were with Aziraphale right now, correct?"

Crowley froze. Angels knowing about their connection was one thing, but the Almighty herself? She couldn't be fooled as easily.

"Um, no no, no." Crowley stammered. "I wasn't. I don't even-"

The Almighty chuckled. "You can't lie to me. I am Truth."

"You're not...angry?"

The Almighty smiled brighter than the light that surrounded her. "How could I be? I am also Love."

Crowley closed his eyes again, and was quiet for several seconds. "What do you need to tell me?" he finally asked, staring at the ground.

"Aziraphale has been trying for, a very long time, to ask me a question. I am going to tell you the answer."

"Why? Why not tell him?"

"Because you won't remember it."

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "Then what's the bloody point of telling me?!"

"Because you will remember it."

Crowley was begin to remember why he'd had so many damned (literally) questions that caused his Fall. He threw his hands in the air.

"Fine! What's so important I have to forget it?"

The Almighty paused and looked at Crowley searchingly before speaking. "He asked me a question, weeping as badly as you did now, immediately after you Fell."

Crowley froze and swallowed thickly. A mixed sense of dread and anticipation filled him. He didn't dare interrupt.

"He asked me," The Almighty said slowly and softly: "Why him? What did he do that was so bad?"

A mixture of affection, grief, and furry washed over Crowley. His eyes watered again. "It's a fucking good question isn't it?" he ground out. "Why exactly did the questions I asked make me deserve an eternity of exile?"

"Is that why you think you Fell? Because you questioned me?"

"Why else!"

The Almighty sighed, and gave him a painfully tender look. "You know, deep down, that you Fell because you rejected your nature. So did the others."

Crowley took a deep breath and tried to stop himself from shaking with an emotion he couldn't name. He couldn't make himself deny the accusation.

"When you all saw my plan to create the humans," The Almighty Continued, "Lucifer and the others were furious. Lucifer especially, claimed I was making a mistake. They were too imperfect, too weak, too easily broken. Why was I wasting my energy and love on them? But you know what it was that truly angered them."

Something that had been locked up tight in Crowley's heart unlatched and spilled out with a painful thud. His chest hurt with the weight of it.

"We were jealous." He said quietly.

The Almighty nodded. "Lucifer thought I couldn't truly love all my children equally. The fact that he believed humans were unworthy just made it worse. And when he learned I intended the angels to guide and teach the humans, he decided being an angel wasn't worth the humiliation of helping his rivals. The Fall just solidified his rage, and he's worked to destroy them ever since."

Crowley remembered. He tried so fervently to forget his early resentment of humans; his excitement to ruin them when he'd been told he was one of Hell's representative on earth. Because that hatred of humans had lasted all of three seconds after he'd met them. Humans, Crowley had found, were infuriatingly wonderful. They had impossibly fragile bodies, were hopelessly clueless, and couldn't even tell a real snake from a demon. But they still somehow managed to make things like cars and empires and rock operas. They loved their mortal companions with a depth that put the angels to shame, that the demons couldn't even fathom; And they never, ever, stopped asking questions.

Even in paradise. Even when it cost them everything.

"So," Crowley chocked out, "That's all? One mistake, one bad moment, is why I deserve exile for eternity."

"Who said it was eternal?" The Almighty said simply.

Crowley shut up again, feeling like his snake-eyes were going to bulge out of his head. The Almighty continued.

"I never said your exile was eternal, or that a war was the only way to end our conflict, or that redemption for _any_ of my children was impossible, and I never said that the _only two_ immortals who would value their bond over their work were a disgrace. Humans wrote that sort of thing down, and you all believed what you wanted to."

The emotional roller-coaster that Crowley had been on gave way to a deep bitterness."Oh, so that's how it is." He sneered. "You'll have your fun, play your games, and then, what? Hit a cosmic reset button? call a time out? 'And all shall be well.'?" He spat the last part out, a bit of theology he had always found especially infuriating."

The Almighty looked sad for the first time in their conversation. "I cannot tell you if all will be well; but there is a day coming, when all, good or bad, lost or found, will...be."

Crowley didn't know how he felt about what The Almighty had said, or if he clearly understood it. "This is what I'm not going to remember?" He said to fill the silence.

The Almighty smiled her ineffable smile. "You'll remember one thing." She said, and as she turned to leave, whistled a little tune. Crowley thought it was nice. He vanished again, and the one slice of Heaven that wouldn't destroy him faded from his sight and his memories.

* * *

"Crowley!" Aziraphale shouted, and threw his arms around a very confused Demon. "You're back, and you're alright!"

"I'm, um, back?" He asked, feeling confused, but happy, about the Angel's uncharacteristic lack of restraint.

""You disappeared." Aziraphale sniffled. "I thought they were hurting you, and I couldn't...couldn't..."

Crowley spied the half-scrawled out circle on the floor, and realized his Angel must have been truly frantic to try to contact heaven after escaping execution. His heart melted a bit, and he returned Aziraphale's hug.

"Shhh, Shh, it's ok Angel." He murmured. "I'm here, and I'm fine." He wasn't sure what in Heaven Aziraphale was talking about with the disappearing, and he couldn't recall what they'd been fighting a moment ago. Weird.

Aziraphale sniffled again, and buried his head in Crowley's shoulder. He was shaking slightly. Crowley spied the crate he'd brought earlier, and remembered why he'd stopped by in the first place.

"Hey, you're no fun when you're all wound up like this." This was a blatant lie, but he _was_ still a demon after all. "Let's get a drink to calm your nerves. Hmm?"

Two hours and four bottles later, The two of them were sitting on the couch and chatting like no crisis had happened. Aziraphale had his head resting lightly on Crowley's shoulder, and finished his point about why is _had_ to be an apple, you see. A companionable silence fell between them, and Crowley felt a lightness that he hadn't in....eons. He started whistling a tune he'd had stuck in his head all day. A moment later, Aziraphale giggled.

"Crowley, where did you hear that? I didn't think you liked that sort of thing."

Crowley flopped his head to the side so he could see his companion. "Hmm? You know what it is?"

"Yes," Aziraphale gigled again, "It's a song from a children's program. Not one you'd like either. Too wholesome."

Crowley's eyebrows raised. "Are their words? Do you know them?"

Aziraphale shot Crowley a confused look. "What, you don't want me to sing, do you? I'm not sure I'm drunk enough for that."

But when Crowley pouted slightly, Aziraphale relented, and sang in his always perfect, and perfectly unfair, angelic voice:

" _Let's go in the garden,You'll find something waiting_  
_Right there where you left it Lying upside down._  
_When you finally find it, You'll see how it's faded_  
_The underside is lighter When you turn it around._

  
_Everything stays, Right where you left it_  
_Everything stays, But it still changes_  
_Ever so slightly. Daily and nightly_  
_In little ways,When everything stays."_

Crowley made him sing it three times, and listens with his eyes closed. When Aziraphale finished the last verse, he startled at the look on his friend's face. "Crowley, are you... _crying_? I don't think I've seen you cry in actual ages."

Somewhat confused by his own reaction, Crowley wiped at his eyes, and saw there were, in fact, tears there. "Huh, I guess I am." He muttered.

"Did you really enjoy that little song so much?" Aziraphale asked, "I thought you'd hate it."

Crowley grinned at his friend, moved just a bit closer, and ran his fingers through Aziraphale's hair affectionately, causing his eyes to flutter shut.

"Naw, Angel." he whispered in his ear. "I think I love it."


	2. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has an unsettling dream after an unsettling day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. More coming soon.

* * *

Aziraphale, as a rule, didn't dream. This was due mostly to the fact that he barely, if ever, slept at all. He didn't see the point when there were so many miracles to perform, so many books to read, and so many lovely little restaurants open at odd hours. Crowley, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy it. So Aziraphale really only slept on nights like this, when Crowley stayed over. Crowley had rarely ever asked him outright. He'd typically nod off on his friend's shoulder after drinking far too many bottles of alcohol, in which case the angel just didn't have the heart to wake him up by moving, and figured it was less boring to sleep as well instead of sit there in silence. Other times, Crowley would walk into his shop without even looking at him, go straight past him and up to the bedroom Aziraphale kept "for appearances sake", crawl under the covers, and shudder while curled into a ball. Crowley would never tell him what exactly made him do this, but once, when he was half-asleep, Crowley had murmured: "They're worse than us." Aziraphale realized he meant the humans. With a sigh, he'd climbed into bed next to his friend and held him until his breathing evened out.

This was the first night Aziraphale had actually asked him to stay.

"Would you mind terribly, if it's not an inconvenience, not... going home?" he asked tentatively, not able to look him in the eye. "I don't want to be alone right now." That was his way of saying, " _You gave me a scare, and I don't want to be without you right now_ ", but he couldn't put that into words.

Crowley yawned sleepily, stretched his arms over his head, and replied. "I guess it's too late to head back anyway." which was the closest he'd ever come to saying: " _I could never say no to you, angel. Of course I'll stay."_

A few minutes later, Crowley was snoring next to him, with an arm slung reassuringly over his stomach. Aziraphale felt the knot in his chest finaly begin to unravel. Crowley was here. He was safe. He sighed, and finally let himself drift off. He didn't expect to dream, since he never had. And he certainly didn't expect to have a nightmare.

* * *

The ground around Aziraphale was ashen, with caustic puffs of dust getting annoyingly into his lungs. The sky was a threatening grey-green, like a thunderstorm was brewing, and a putrid smell permeated the place, making him gag. Aziraphale didn't like this place _at all_ , and he tried unsuccessfully not to panic about not remembering how he got here in the first place.

Of course, Satan was glaring at him, which didn't help.

When his brain cought up to what he was seeing, he tried to scream, but couldn't summon the oxygen needed. The Devil Himself scowled.

"Be calm, little angel," he spat, like the words pained him. "Your soul is not what I'm after. I have a...request."

Aziraphale furrowed his brows, not understanding. "A request? What in, well, _here_ , could you possibly want from me?"

"The hell-traitor, Crowley," Satan growled, "Kill him."

Aziraphale shot Satan an unimpressed look. "Um. No." he said, and turned to leave. Satan materialized in front of him and barred his teeth. "You will here me out, little angel. I hear you _like_ bargaining with my kind."

Aziraphale tried to suppress his shudder of fear. Not trusting his voice, he motioned for The Fiend to continue.

"If you do this for us. Hell will withdraw its activities from the lands you know as England. It will be considered eternally to be your territory."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "You know, the whole: 'and then you can rule the world.' gimmick has never worked out well for you. You should try a different tactic."

The Devil roared, and cried out with something suspiciously like desperation: "You will be made an arch-angel! Heaven has promised!"

Aziraphale paused. Not because anything about the offer appealed, but because the thought of Satan swallowing his infamous pride for _any_ motivation was more than shocking.

"Kill him!" Satan growled, mistaking Aziraphale's silence for interest. "Kill him while he is still in this state, and you will be the equal of Michael and Gabriel. You will have everything-"

"In this state?" Aziraphale cut in sharply. "What state?"

Satan clammed up, which was truly a once-in-eternity experience. "The state of..." He paused, like he was scrambling for words. "Sleep?"

Aziraphale was surprised to discover the Father of Lies was so bad at lying, but he was a pretty bad at being a father of anything.

"This isn't revenge," Aziraphale said slowly, "This is fear. You are _frightened_ of Crowley."

Satan roared with rage, bared his teeth, and charged at him.

"I think I'd like to wake up now." Aziraphale cried, and the hellscape in front of him vanished.


	3. Dream a Little Dream

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, prophets and witches are not the same thing. Witches often _are_ prophets, like Agnes Nutter, but witches tend to have a litany of skills at their disposal, alongside a healthy dose of disdain for whatever power is currently mucking the world up. Prophets really only have one skill, and that's speaking the Truth, of both the present and the future. It's typically this, and not genuine confusion over their classification, that gets them burned alongside their less-holy counterparts. Prophets are also distinct from witches in that it's clearly known that their gifts come from The Almighty, where witches' powers are a bit more mysterious. Also, Prophets made Crowley's skin itch.

This last detail wouldn't have been relevant if a certain angel hadn't woken up in a cold sweat from a deep slumber, and if a certain demon hadn't insisted on knowing what had upset his friend so much, and if the following conversation hadn't taken place:

"So," Crowley had said, sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing Aziraphale, "You dreamed Satan wanted you to kill me?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"That's not really all that odd for dreams, 'Zira. We did just literally escape death. I know you don't sleep much, but it's normal for dreams to-"

"I don't think it was dream." Aziraphale cut in. "It didn't really feel like one. It felt like...like a visitation from _Her_ feels, just in a wrong sort of way."

Crowley frowned, and was quiet for a long time. Something was nagging at the back of his head. He had the feeling of forgetting something very important. Aziraphale hugged his knees to his chest, and continued softly.

"I think...maybe, they're not done with us yet."

Crowley groaned and put his head in his hands. "It did seem a little too easy. But why would they try to pit us against each other?"

Aziraphale fidgited with a corner of the comforter. "I think they don't fully understand why we did what we did. They probably think it was like the 'alliance' Michael made with Ligur; a trade-off for a common goal. I don't think they realize we're-" he stared down at his hands, "That we're...f-fond of each other."

Crowley almost imperceptibly became more still and silent than he had been. For a moment, Aziraphale had the terrible thought that Crowley would contradict him, laugh at him, or leave in a huff. But instead, he reached out his hand and tipped the angel's chin up, making him look him in the face again.

"Then they've got their collective heads up their arse." He said, in a tone too soft for his words.

Aziraphale let out a half-laugh, half relieved sigh. "Language, dear." he said, with no bite to it. "There's still the problem of what we do about it."

"About our fondness?" Crowley asked teasingly.

Aziraphale's face turned Crowley's favorite shade of pink. "No! You silly serpent! I mean about he hordes of hell and possible heaven making a second assassination attempt on us!"

Crowley bit back a laugh. He knew the situation was serious, but it was too much fun to rile his companion up like this. "Fine." He replied, "I'm assuming you already have a plan?"

Azirphale blushed again, and began wringing his hands. "I have a sort of a plan." He said. "It would make sense, I'm sure you'd agree, for us to...stick together? Safer that way you know."

"We already do. More than we ever have."

"No, I mean, even more than that. More..." He searched for a word that would let him say what he meant without actually having to say it. "...formally."

When Crowley just gave him an unimpressed look, Aziraphale took a deep breath and blurted: "Wouldyouwantomoveinhere? Just...just for a bit at least? You wouldn't have to stay if you don't want to or nothing turns out to be wrongandIdon'twantyoutothinkyouhavetodecideright-"

"Yes." Crowely said. He tried his damnedest not to smile, and utterly failed.

Aziraphale, for his part, froze mid-sentence with his mouth open, suddenly unable to force sounds out. "Oh?" he managed after several attempts.

"Yes." Crowley reiterated. He unceremoniously settled himself back under the covers and closed his eyes when his head hit the pillow. "We'll work out the details in the morning, after we've finished a good sleep."

"Really?" Aziriphale exclaimed, "You don't think we should-"

Crowley grabbed Azirphale's shirt and gently but firmly tugged him down, so he was laying half-cradled in the demon's arms. He kissed the top of Aziraphale's head affectionately.

"Sleep now. Talk later." he yawned, running his hands slowly through the angels hair in the way he knew calmed him.

Aziraphale sighed. "Um, alright." he said, finally relaxing. "I think I can manage that."

* * *

And so, the next morning, Crowley was surrounded by boxes in Azirphale's books shop, while the angel ran out to get coffee and sandwiches for their lunch. Crowley had been grouchy and irritable from the too-patient work of packing things up and unpacking them again; and one of his plants was _flagrently_ not unfurling it's leaves to it's fullest potential. He'd just finished explaining exactly what was going to happen if the plant didn't straighten up, when the door chime range.

"Back here, Angel." He called out, "I'm halfway though the-"

A violent sneeze interrupted his thought, and a weird, itchy sensation spread over his skin. His mobile buzzed at the same time. Still sniffling, Crowley grabbed his phone, and saw he had a text message:

[not an angel. But thanks for the compliment, Sunglasses ;)]

Crowley read the text three times. Who in heaven would both have his number, and take their life in their hands by talking to him like that? Also, why send him a text if they could hear him? Another message popped up:

[turn around, please. I don't like being ignored]

Slowly, Crowley turned around, wondering what sort of creature dared to sneak up on him. The 'creature' turned out to be a 5'2, 100-pounds-soaking-wet, young person with purple hair and freckles, barely 16 if anything. They were glued to their phone and texting furiously. Hardly the most intimidating person Crowley had met, but he sneezed again, and his skin felt itchier. He wondered if this is what humans felt like when they got hives.

[sorry about the discomfort,] another message read, [But I can't help what I am anymore than you can. I'll try to make this quick]

Crowley sneezed for the third time, which totaled three times more than he'd sneezed in the entire past millennium. He was done with it. "why aren't you talking to me, you, whoever you are?"

He said it in his best 'you're looking at a real-life monster from your nightmares' voice, but the kid just laughed soundlessly.

[Oooooh, scary demon,] Crowley read on his phone, [Please, I know what side you're one. I'm Ash. They/them pronouns if you will. And I'm Aphonic. Can't speak a word.]

Okay, there were _several_ things about that message Crowley wanted to get to the bottom of, but the most pressing thing was:

"What did you call me?"

[Demon.] Ash texted back. [It's what you are. Wanna guess what I am?]

Ash waggled their eyebrows playfully at Crowley. Crowley's head began to throb, and his breathing was getting a bit wheezy. "Oh shit. You're a prophet."

Prophets had always been more Aziraphale's thing. Not just because they made Crowley feel woozy with their connection to the Almighty, but because they tended to be horribly solemn, burdened down with their holy mission. They also tended to be very, very old. Clearly, Ash hadn't learned how to be any of those things yet. Crowley wasn't sure it was better.

[Bingo!] Ash texted. [I gotta say, I'm liking the whole 'speaking to supernatural beings' thing. I don't have to convince them I'm not raving mad.]

"What do you- _ACHOOO!!!_ -What do you want?" Crowley demanded. The kid looked slightly guilty.

[Sorry, said I'd make this quick. I've been sent by god, blah, blah, blah, listen carefully and all that. Metaphorically.]

Crowley rolled his eyes, but Ash was too busy texting to notice.

[You're going to see someone you don't want to soon. Help them instead of fighting, ok? Oh, and tell your angel friend he never gave away the sword]

Crowley did a double take at the last part of the message. "But he did, I was there!"

Ash shrugged. [Nope. Totally didn't. I can't lie, or say anything that isn't true. Anyway, I've got to get back to the cafe before my mom realizes I'm not in the bathroom. Later, Sunglasses]

Ash popped out of the store as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving Crowley too light-headed and sneezy to chase them. After a few minutes, the fog cleared, and Crowley peaked out of the window. No sign of the kid at all. That was a shame, Aziraphale was going to be so disappointed he'd missed a real live Prophet, it had been so long since they'red been one on earth.

Speaking of which, the words Ash had left bothered him. Not just die to their cryptic nature, but they danced around something locked away his head. "I can't lie..." he muttered, and that frantically tugged at something buried in his memory, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what.


End file.
